After the Funeral
by Runa93
Summary: I require one more thing of you, Watson.I require, my dear friend, that you keep on smiling…”


It started a week after the funeral.

The house had been silent, almost eerily so. Mrs. Hudson had placed a cup of tea next to the doctor's untouched plate (poor man, he hardly ever ate anything now, doing things so mechanically, it almost broke her heart to see it, not that it wasn't already broken with….what had happened), and uttered a shriek.

It brought Dr. Watson stumbling out of his room, his tie undone and blinking in surprise at his old landlady.

"Mrs. Hudson, what on earth-?"

The trembling landlady pointed at the table, on which the doctor's breakfast lay. Inching closer Watson could make out nothing more dangerous that a slice of bread, a cup of tea, an egg-

-which promptly uncurled itself and revealed a white mouse.

Mrs. Hudson screamed again and fainted.

After a good deal of fanning and use of smelling salts, the good lady was roused again and the white mouse given to the delighted page boy. Watson hadn't given it a thought then, Mrs. Hudson was getting on in years after all, as was he. It was to be expected, after all….

Nothing seemed that important anymore, anyway…..

It was from the next day that things started to get strange.

Mrs. Hudson only had to clean the mantel piece once, to turn around and find that it had gone dusty again, in a matter of seconds. Watson's stethoscope ended up in the most bizarre of places, not the least being the chimney. No visitor ever left without being drenched with water twice, once while entering, once while leaving. Lestrade's tea, whenever he came to visit, would always turn to vinegar, no matter how many times Mrs. Hudson poured it again. Gregson's shoes would always end up painted yellow. There would be pencil shavings in Watson's pipe, and on one memorable occasion Mrs. Hudson had woken up to see the living room inhabited by more than a three dozen cats.

Clearly, something was happening in Baker Street.

Lestrade and Gregson had gone for a drink in a pub. They would normally have one with Watson, but it had been a long time since Watson had indulged himself and the last time they tried to have one in Baker street, all the wine had turned to milk. Gregson still nearly threw up at the thought.

"It's curious, though these incidents, aren't they?"

Gregson grunted. "Nothing more curious than what used to happen when _he _was around. Remember the case of the Scandinavian dagger in the butter?"

Lestrade shuddered. "Lets not bring that up." He took a long draught. "But still, things don't feel the same. Without him around."

"Telling us how useless we are."

"'Least Watson's stopped looking like a stuffed mummy." Said Lestrade thickly.

Gregson nodded. "Hnn. He doesn't seem so sad anymore."

They both paused and looked at each other.

"You don't think…"

Their drinks turned white.

Watson stepped into the living room. His day had been worn out and weary. Mrs. Hudson had said dinner was ready, but he wasn't hungry. In fact he hardly ever felt things any more. There was a deep weight of inside him, and he was so shaken by it that he had stopped noticing things long ago. Ever since _he _went.

He closed the door behind him. Looked around. And came to a halt.

Mrs. Hudson started and dropped her knitting on the floor at the sound. She got to her feet, her body protesting, and rushed out of her room. When she opened the door she recognized the sound.

Laughter. Deep booming laughter.

Goodness, it seemed like such a long time since she had heard the doctor laugh.

The door to the sitting room opened, and Watson came out. He was still wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

"Dr. Watson, is everything alright?"

"Splendid, Mrs. Hudson, simply splendid." Watson's eyes twinkled, in a way that she hadn't seen for some time. Mrs. Hudson felt her heart lift.

"Can you please clear away the dinner things? I think I'm done for the night." Watson went back inside the room and she heard him start to pick up the cutlery. By the time she arrived, breathless, to the seventeenth step, he had finished.

He handed the tray to her, and behind his shoulder, she got a glimpse of the room.

Watson had to grab the tray again to prevent it from falling.

The walls had been painted a deep orange, with green splashes here and there. The furniture had been turned up side down and the cushions had turned pink with frills.

"It'll be gone by morning." Watson assured her. "He would see to it, you know. It's just his idea of a practical joke."

_He…?_

"It'll be alright, Mrs. Hudson." Watson murmured.

And suddenly, she knew, it would be.

She went down again, a spring in her steps. The door automatically opened as she approached.

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes."

There was a light breeze, and she could have sworn she heard someone chuckle.

Watson entered the room again. One of the chairs righted itself so that he could sit down on it. A curtain billowed out even though the windows were closed. He turned towards it.

"So you couldn't leave yet, could you?"

A gentle breeze blew through the room, and when Watson closed his eyes, he could almost feel the pressure of firm fingers on his shoulder. He sighed.

"Its fine. I'm alright now."

The breeze blew again.

He allowed himself the luxury of a small smile. "I know what I promised, Holmes, but it…takes time."

He took a deep breath and steadied himself. A smell of tobacco permeated the room, a known smell. The pressure shifted from his shoulder to his hand.

"Truly, Holmes. I swear. I'll be fine." He clenched his fingers. "Go, be at peace."

A light laugh rang out in the room. Watson opened his eyes, now streaming.

The window was open, the sounds of the street entering the room. The walls were normal. The furniture was fine.

Watson walked to the window and closed it. As his breath fogged up the glass, words appeared on it.

_If you don't obey, I'll come back again. _

Watson smiled, a genuine one this time.

_Holmes's ageless eyes looked at him. He kept his head bowed. He could not bear to look at the dying man. _

"_Watson." The voice was but a whisper. A pair of hands gripped his trembling ones and squeezed them lightly. He still could not look. _

"_Watson, you have been very good to me." Watson's head jerked up this time, Holmes was smiling gently. _

"_You have been very good to me Watson. For so many years. I require one more thing of you, Watson. "_

"_Anything." He whispered. "Anything." _

_Holmes's eyes glimmered with warmth and unshed tears. "I require, my dear friend, that you keep on smiling…"_

Watson looked at the now empty glass pane, and managed a smile.

Thank you.

**A/N: First, two apologies:**

**For the last couple of weeks I've been down and out of sorts lately because of an approaching major exam and my marks not being up to my parents expectations etc.**

**Therefore I hadn't been on to read a fic since like a very along time. Yesterday, I got down to it and read every single fic that I had missed, and you won't believe how happy it made me to be back to this familiar world of Sherlock Holmes again. I hadn't had time to review all of them but they were all really really great and really cheered me up!**

**So this isn't really an apology, more like a big thank you to all you people out there for helping me get out of my depression. THANK YOU!!!!**

**Secondly, I dunno whether this fic qualifies as crack! or not, but I hope you enjoy it. I was laughing my head off while writing, so I hope reading also qualifies! **

**And another thing I noticed is that, while this fic is supposed to take place after the Great War it doesn't seem so, because it takes place in Baker Street and Mrs. Hudson is alive and things like that. Therefore it is up to the reader to choose the time line. **

**Hope you enjoyed! Thank you very much again! **

**Please Review! **


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